


wake me up (when it's all over)

by olivia23



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, Sansa-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 13:57:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5130176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olivia23/pseuds/olivia23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day Sansa Stark came home was the same day the white raven arrived from the citadel.</p>
<p>'The long winter of war is finished. May the spring bring with it peace and prosperity to all in the Seven Kingdoms.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	wake me up (when it's all over)

The Dragon Queen of the South granted her the title of Queen in the North.

The wars and the winter had left the north in such a state that the Queen’s advisors had urged her to abandon it to her newly discovered nephew, Jon Snow. When Jon arrived to court, however, it was made clear that he had no desire to take the north. After much deliberation, it was decided that the north would be granted back to the only remaining Stark, who had ridden out most of the winter in east.

The Queens of Westeros swore an oath of fealty to one another, and Sansa Stark departed King's Landing for what she hoped to be the final time. She held no love for the place where she had lost everything.

\- - - - -

Jon Snow accompanied her and her small guard for part of the trip north. Jon was all the family she had now. As children, Sansa had never been as close to Jon as her sister had. Sansa had been a true lady, and it wasn’t appropriate for a lady to spend time with her father's bastard son. This was one of the many things that Sansa had grown to regret. 

“I wish I had known.” He told her one evening, as they shared hot stew by the fire. “I wish I could have been there to protect you.”

Sansa wasn't entirely sure what Jon wished he could have protected her from. She had encountered many horrors since last she had seen him.

“You couldn't have protected me.” She told him. “If you had tried, you would be dead too.”

Sansa stood up, placing her bowl on the ground in front of Ghost, who proceeded to eat her leftovers. She moved towards her tent, leaving Jon Snow sitting by the fire.

Early the next morning, Sansa found Jon saddling his horse with provisions.

“Where are you going?”

Jon jumped, having not heard her approach.

“Your party travels to slow.” He said, smiling kindly. “I need to return to my brothers on the wall.”

Sansa knew this wasn't the only reason. Being around her reminded Jon of everyone he had lost. He did the same for her. They were like ghosts to each other.

“I understand.” She said.

Jon said nothing, nodding his head and gazing awkwardly at the horizon. He turned, preparing to mount his steed.

“Jon.”

He back turned to look at her.

“No matter what other blood flows through your veins, you are and always will be, a Stark of Winterfell. I'm sorry I didn't realise that earlier.”

She hugged him, and watched as he rode off, his white wolf close at his side.

\- - - - -

The journey north was very different to all those years ago when she had been travelling in the opposite direction.

The once green, fertile fields were now a barren ice waste lands. Often, she and her guards would take refuge in one of the many abandoned inns along the Kingsroad.

On one of the coldest nights of the trip, they had not had the luxury of an inn, and had been forced to set up camp amongst the shelter of only trees.

That night, Sansa fell asleep listening to the howling of the wind mixed with the howls of wolves.

The the early hours of the next morning, she awoke to a pair of deep yellow eyes staring into her own.

Nymeria was now easily three times the size that Lady had been when Queen Cersei had demanded her death. Her fur was tattered and Sansa spotted a deep bite mark on one of her hind legs.

Sansa had heard stories during her time in the east of a pack that was led by the largest she-wolf anyone had ever seen. It would seem that Nymeria's pack had turned on her.

Until dawn, Sansa worked at cleaning the great wolf’s wounds as best she could. Nymeria was just as ruthless and stubborn as her master had been, and was not at all cooperative.

Somehow, Sansa knew the wolf would not be staying with her, and when the time came for them to part, Sansa whispered in the great wolf’s ear.

“Find her. Bring her back to me.”

\- - - - -

One her return journey, Sansa heard many tales.

She heard a tale of a dead woman who had travelled the lands, seeking out those who had betrayed her and her own.

She heard a tale of a lost wolf, and of the onion knight who was searching for him.

\- - - - - 

The place Sansa called home was changed. The once grey walls had turned black in the great fire, and much of the castle town had been burnt to the ground. And yet, as Sansa walked amongst it for the first time in over ten years, she saw some familiar faces looking up at her. The people of Winterfell were returning to rebuild, the same as she was.

In their eyes, Sansa saw their dreams. They were dreams she shared. Dreams of home, dreams of belonging somewhere and dreams of finally being safe.

After nine long years of winter, it was time to dream of spring.

\- - - - -

Walking through the Godswood gave her a sense of serenity like no other. This place had once been her fathers haven. The place he had connected with his gods.

Sansa no longer believed in the gods, old or new. Many a time, she had prayed to them for the safety of her family, and they had not answered her prayers.

Those around her would often say that the gods were good. The gods had not been good to the Starks.

And yet she still found herself drawn to the Godswood of Winterfell. She told herself that it was because the place reminded her of her father, but she new that wasn't entirely true. Another power drew her there. A power she had no understanding of.

\- - - - -

Six months after she had returned, the stone mason completed a stone likeliness of her elder brother and mother. Though it was customary for only the Lords of Winterfell to be placed to rest under the castle, Sansa believed her mother deserved a place there as much as Robb and her father, as her Aunt Lyanna had.

She was gazing at her mother, brother and father when she felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise.

“Is that my father?” A voice said from the darkness.

Sansa jumped, turning around a seeing a sight that made her think she was dreaming.

For the young man before her was the vision of Eddard Stark.

The boy stepped forward into the candlelight, his face was still shrouded by shadows.

“I remember these two. He was my brother.” He said, pointing to the statue of Robb. 'And that's....'

“That's our mother, Rickon.” Sansa said, her voice catching slighlty in her throat.

Rickon turned his gaze toward her, looking from the statue of Lady Catelyn and then back to her.

“You look like her.” He finally said.

She held a hand out to her baby brother, and was not surprised to hear a low growl from behind him.

“Hello Shaggydog.” She said to the gigantic black wolf, crouching down and holding her held out for him instead. Shaggy emerged from behind his master, sniffing her hand with an air of caution, before licking it, and sitting back on his haunches. Sansa smiled at the beast. “A wild wolf indeed.” Sansa said, smiling.

“Osha made me train him,”Rickon said shyly. “She says that you're one of my sisters. I don't remember having any sisters, only brothers.”

Sansa looked up at Rickon. From below, his face was lightened by the candles. He had been a only a babe when Sansa had last saw him, red-haired, blue eyed and soft of face, and most people assumed he would have the Tully look, like his brothers before him.

Rickon had more Stark in him than any other of Eddard's sons ever had. His long face was masked by a the beginnings of a fiery red beard, his matching hair, long, curly and unkept, was pulled back. He was taller, leaner and yet more built than Robb had ever been. Rickon was clothed in tattereded leather and a green cloak, on his hip swung a sword, and over his shoulder a bow and quiver. He was a picture of the Lords of old.

Sansa had so many questions to ask Rickon, but from the tears that were forming in his Tully blue eyes she was reminded that, however fierce he may appear, Rickon was a fourteen year old boy whose family had all but abandoned him when he was barely three. All her questions would have to wait.

“Father, Arya and I travelled south when you were still young.”Sansa told him. “Do you remember Father?”

Rickon shook his head.

“They never came home.” He said, gazing up at the statues.

She stood beside him, still looking at him.

“No, they didn't.” She said. “But they would be so proud that you did.”

Sansa put an arm around her baby brother, and led him up out of the crypts, the great Direwolf following close behind.

\- - - - -

“Are you telling me that Bran is alive?”

It was nearing midnight. Rickon and Shaggy slept soundly next to the fire. Osha had arrived a few hours after the pair.

“I'm tellin' you that last I saw him, your brother was alive and headed north, as far north as he could get.” Osha said. “That was over ten years ago. Only the God's know where he is now.”

\- - - - - 

Their journey to the Wall was a fast as could be.

Rickon did not warm to Jon as quickly as he had to Sansa.He approached him warily, as a young wolf approached an elder. It was a strange sight to behold. The two resembled each other more closely than either resembled their true brothers. There was barley ten years of age between the two, and yet Jon appeared an old man next to Rickon.

Sansa informed Jon of what Osha had told her about Bran, and of her plan to go beyond the wall to search for him.

“No.’”

“Jon I-“

“Sansa, the chances of Bran still being alive after eveything-“

“How can you say that Jon, when Rickon is sitting before you after being ‘dead’ for nearly ten years?”

“Sansa, you have never been beyond the wall. Even now, there are horrors that you cannot imagine. I cannot allow my family-“

“I wasn’t asking for your permission, Jon.”

The fire in Jon’s eyes was something that Sansa had never seen before. For just a moment, Sansa saw caught a flash the the dragon blood running through Jon’s veins. And then it was gone, and the Stark grey eyes shone with sadness. 

“I will find him.” Jon said. “I know the lands beyond the wall better than other man of the watch. If Bran is out there, I’ll find him, Sansa. I promise.”

\- - - - -

Spring did not truly arrive in the north until a year after Sansa returned. The snow began to melt, and there was warmth in the sun. Rickon spent his time ridding through the north, often being gone for days at a time.

Once it became known that one of Eddard Stark's sons had returned, people began to talk of his right to Winterfell.

One morning, as they watched Rickon ride off,  Sansa discussed this with Osha, the woman who had kept Rickon safe for the last 10 years.

“That boy has been through enough.” She said. “Let him ride and let him live. He don't need no crown to weigh him down.”

\- - - - -

Life in the North went on. Homes were rebuilt from the ashes, and families grew. Many suitors were presented to Sansa, though she graciously declined all. She had had enough marriage for her lifetime. The future of the Starks would pass to Rickon and his heirs, of which Sansa was sure there would be many, given the way many of the young girls of Winterfell looked at him.

Sansa spent as much time as she could with her brother, teaching him the history of Westeros and of the Starks, though Rickon wasn't very interested. So often Sansa instead found herself reminiscing to Rickon about the happy times their family had in Winterfell before the wars.

She told him of the time when Robb and Jon had tricked a very young Arya into eating a very spicy fruit they had found in the kitchens, and of the stern scolding they had got of their father whilst Arya screeched in her mothers arms and, how a few years later, Arya had pulled that exact trick on Rickon.

She she told him of how their father would take them down to the Godswood each week to pray to the old gods. How their mother would sing and rock them to sleep during a storm.

She told him of the snow battles they would have early in the mornings, before mother and father had woken up. Of how Robb would hoist baby Rickon up on his shoulders, passing him snowballs to pelt at his brothers and sisters. And of how Bran would almost always win, as he could climb up so high no snowballs could reach him.

While Sansa knew that it was important for Rickon to have knowledge history and lore, she believed it was more important for him to know that, once, he had been apart of a family.

\- - - - - - -

The day that they found each other again was the first time Sansa cried in many years.

She awoke to the howling of a wolf.

Rising to a seemingly empty castle, she walked past Rickon's chambers, seeing him stretched out on his bed, Shaggy curled close by his side, green eyes peering curiously at her. Rickon had returned the evening before from one of his furthest ventures yet, and Sansa knew he would not likely be rising before midday.

She found herself wandering towards the stables, and before long she was ridding through the gates.

It was one of the warmest days Sansa could remember.  As she rode, the sun rose and she could feel it warming her back. The light layer of night snow on the earth melted away and Sansa followed a path that seemed to be set in her mind.

On her ninth birthday, her father had taken her riding for the day. Sansa had been very excited the day before. Father usually only took Robb and Jon out with him. They had left before dawn. Before long, Sansa had grown tired, hungry and cold. But she didn't complain, because if she did she might not get her present. She had been hoping for a new doll to add to her collection.

That was a lifetime ago. The girl Sansa had once been had died a long time ago.

She came to a small clearing in the wood. The light streamed in though the treetops, reflecting upon a shallow pool.

“You look like Mother.” A voice that Sansa had not heard in a lifetime whispered.

Before she even aware of it, Sansa had leapt of her horse and enveloped Arya in a hug with such force that the two girls fell into the pool. Neither seemed to notice.

Sansa wasn't sure how long she held her sister for. As she did, she wept and she cried. Arya never made a sound, only held onto Sansa with all the force she could muster.

Finally, the girls let go of each other. Sansa looked down at Arya. At twenty and one, Arya was still small, she still had messy dark hair, and her eyes were as grey as the Direwolf on the Stark sigil. Covered in dirt and grime, Sansa thought she was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.

“I'm sorry.” Arya blurted out. “I'm sorry for all the times I said I hated you, or called you stupid. I never hated you. I'm sorry I let them die. I'm so sorry, Sansa.”

Sansa again wrapped her arms tightly around Arya, pulling her close.

“Arya,” She breathed into her sisters hair. Looking over her sister’s shoulder, she saw a yellow eyed wolf looking back at her. “You came back to me.”

\- - - - - 

“I killed her.”

Sansa opened her eyes to the darkness. Arya lay on the bed beside her, her eyes watching the stone ceiling.

“They sent me to kill her.” Arya continued. “I didn’t know who she was until after the knife had gone through her heart.”

“She looked at me. She saw through the mask. She looked at me and she knew who I was. She smiled, and then she died because of me.”

Sansa turned to face her sister. In the dim candle light of the room, Sansa could see tears welling in Arya’s eyes that had not been shed in many years. She placed a hand on her sister’s check, forcing her to look her in the eyes.

“Our mother died over ten years ago. The Boltons and the Freys murdered her and Robb. That thing was a part of our mother that she would have hated. You killed that part of her, and gave her the peace that she has been looking for.”

Arya buried her face into the crook of her sister’s neck, and Sansa held her tightly.

“You didn’t kill our mother, Arya. You set her free.”

\- - - - - 

She sat in front on the Weirwood tree.

“I didn’t believe Jon when he told me. I thought perhaps he was lying, to make us all feel better. He spent nearly a year beyond the wall, searching. And then I remembered how I felt when I visited the Godswood.”

She place her hand onto the tree, and immediately she _felt_ him.

She felt Bran, three years old, listening quietly as he tottled around his mother’s heels, following her around Winterfell.

Four years old, watching his older brothers in awe as they spared against each other with wooden swords.

Five years old, staring into the crib at his newborn brother, his father smiling proudly beside him.

Six years old, listening intently as Old Nan recounted tales from the distant past. 

Seven years old, calming his yet to be named Direwolf as the winds howled and the thunder boomed.

Seven years old, falling, falling, falling, the ground getting ever closer-

Eight years old, looking backwards towards his ruined home for the last time.

Eight years old, freezing, starving nearly dying in the snow.

Eight years old, looking at the world through the eyes of another.

Nine years old, becoming ever present.

“We miss you, Bran. We love you.”

And it may have been the fading afternoon light, but Sansa could have sworn that she saw the lips of the Weirwood face curve upwards in the smile of a young boy.

\- - - - - 

Rickon was eighteen when he married Ira. She was a strong willed girl with dark blue eyes, who belonged to the group of people who had once been called Wildlings, but were now known as Northerners. She had knocked Rickon flat to the ground when she caught him fishing in a pond on her families land. Rickon had fallen in love almost instantly. Their first child, Catelyn, was born with deep grey eyes and fiery red hair. Twin boys Eddard and Robb followed.  The Stark line endured, just as it always had.

\- - - - -  

Arya took on the role of Sansa’s political envoy amongst the new Northerners. She travelled throughout their communities, helping to maintain the newly instated peace. She returned home often, doting on her niece and nephews, who would follow her around like little ducks.

The wars had taken something from Arya, but Sansa felt that everyday she spent with her family, a piece of the old Arya returned.

\- - - - - 

The death of Petyr Baelish was as insignificant as his life should have been.

At Sansa’s invite, he arrived at Winterfell. Ghost, Nymeria and Shaggydog all barked and snarled at him when he entered the main keep. He kissed Sansa on the lips when he greeted her. He doted on young Cat and ruffled Edd and Robb’s hair. Shaggydog nearly tore his hand off.

He supped with the all the Starks that evening. Jon and Arya discussed the New Northerners, while Rickon and Ira battled with the twins, who had learnt the art of throwing food (from their Aunt Arya).

No one noticed Sansa slip three extra drops into Lord Baelish’s wine. 

Littlefinger was found dead in his bed the next morning, covered in his own shit.

Sansa Stark had not forgotten about the man who was soley responsible for the deaths of her father, mother, brother and countless others across Westeros.

The wolves had come again, and they had not forgotten. For those who had wronged them, Winter was always coming.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic has been in my 'in progress' folder for about 18 months and is very close to my heart. let me know what you think!


End file.
